Two young men drove the horses,
And neither the people knew;
But young Nick asked a question
And that old man looked him through.

A little feed they purchased,
And their teams drank in the creek,
And to and fro they travelled
As silently for a week--
Went southward laden heavy,
And northward always light,
And the gnarled old man aye with them,
With the long beard flowing white.

From Sharpsburg up to Cavetown
The story slowly rolled--
That old man knew the mountains
Were filled with ore of gold.
The boxes held his crucibles;
'Twas haunted where he trod;
And every shafted pole he brought
Was a divining rod!

And none knew whence he came there,
Nor they his course who took,
Down the road to Harper's Ferry,
In a shaggy mountain nook;
But Nick the Sire grew certain,
While from his eye he shrunk,
That old man was none other